


you're in my blood like holy wine

by beyondthescenes



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondthescenes/pseuds/beyondthescenes
Summary: Matthew, Elektra, and some of the ways they love.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Elektra Natchios, Matt Murdock/Elektra Natchios
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	you're in my blood like holy wine

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No profit is being made from this work. All characters belong to Marvel.
> 
> Author’s Notes: Planning to make this a compilation of shortfics. Chapter 1 is based on a theme set of prompts from the 50sentences Challenge of 1fandom community on LiveJournal. I wrote the 50 sentences (some AU, some canon-compliant) as unrelated pieces, but if you see any connection between any of them, I leave that to your imagination and interpretation. Also, blatant abuse of run-on sentences, dashes, commas, and semicolons ahead. :)

**_raise_ **

They are each other’s weakness, but Matty and Ellie are his finest warriors, and at the same time the children he never had; Stick would never admit it, but he is torn between wanting his missions to succeed and having his two pupils find their elusive happiness with each other.

****

**_pet_ **

“Mama, can I have a puppy? Please?” Matty Jr. begs, and Elektra looks up from sharpening her sai on the kitchen island – thankful, suddenly, for this kind of life she’d once thought impossible.

**_summer_ **

“Where did you want these, sweetheart?” Matthew follows soon after, arms full of storage boxes that had been purchased from Amazon – she’s been obsessed with the KonMari method, after reading the book – and she takes a moment to sweep her eyes appreciatively over her husband’s shirtless, sweaty form in the midmorning sun.

**_choice_ **

“I’d trade it all in for a lifetime of smelling your skin,” Elektra had said once, having suddenly turned serious after listing half-whimsical plans; and more than ten years later, with the Hand offering her their sworn loyalty and power unimaginable and the world at her feet, she finds that it is still true now and makes good on the declaration from her youth.

****

**_tall_ **

He feels her gaze like an actual caress, and he smirks before turning his back to her and stretching up to return a book on a high shelf – many of their library study sessions end in the darkest corners of the stacks – “Enjoying the view?” he teases; “You know I can’t reach it,” she glares, but her mouth breaks into an elegant leer – “But yes, I like staring at your ass.”

****

**_nail_ **

Foggy shakes his head and grins from his desk when he notices the long, reddened scratches on Matt’s back before he enters the bath of their shared dormroom.

**_red_ **

Elektra is blood and passion, fire and anger, courage and love – she is red personified, and red is one of the few colors he remembers.

**_risk_ **

The humor isn’t lost on him, that they’re supposed to be catching criminals in some dark alley but are instead the ones currently fooling around in said dark alley – “You make me feel twenty-one again,” she laughs breathlessly, and the chuckle dies in his throat when she kneels on the ground and unfastens his pants.

**_high_ **

Fighting always excites her, but fighting alongside Matthew is exhilarating and intoxicating; it makes her blood sing, recognizing its harmony with his.

**_stop_ **

Elektra knows that she said no sex, but with Matthew’s hard, familiar body enclosing hers, callused hand running up and down her thigh, full lips pressing hungry, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, she inwardly curses the Yakatomi guards for interrupting their boardroom “makeout”.

**_layer_ **

Matthew said that he was free with her, like with no one else, and that he had let her in, but she had let him in too, past the walls of her training and the ramparts of her heart.

**_study_ **

He maps out the geography of her body, its dips and curves, its ridges and hollows, its scents and reactions, and memorizes its resonance – the rhythm of her heart, the hitch of her breath, the sounds of her surrender.

**_job_ **

It started as a mission to lure him into darkness, but he ended up dragging her into the light.

****

**_name_ **

“Matthew” is formal and official; it is what’s in his birth certificate, and what he states in court in the entry of appearance, but somehow, when rolling off her tongue in that velvet voice, it sounds like an intimate endearment.

**_shadow_ **

“Elektra. That’s your name. Elektra,” the man tells her; and somehow she does know that name, knows that voice, knows _him_ ; and when she sees the gentle, reaching motion of his hand, reaching to cradle her cheek, it is achingly familiar and another shadow in her mind falls away.

**_try_ **

Elektra wonders if there truly is some good in her, that maybe Matthew only sees what he wants to see, but finds herself unable to argue against the brightness of his love.

**_new_ **

She grinds down on him again and again, in the middle of Fogwell’s boxing ring, a delicious end to their first spar; and when she comes her moan is throaty and deep, vibrating from the column of her neck into the palm of his hand.

**_water_ **

His wife feels warmer, and her heart pulses slightly faster even at rest – is she coming down with a fever? – his eyes widen, then blinks back tears, when he hears a second and tiny heartbeat for the first time.

**_price_ **

“You would risk everything for me?” she asks plainly on the rooftop ledge of his apartment building; she finds his answer in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, in the way his smile is impossibly soft, and in that moment Elektra knows she would do the same for him.

**_compare_ **

Her heat, the burning of her blood underneath her skin, creates an answering fire in him.

**_hands_ **

Touching the other’s face was one of their intimacies – more meaningful, sometimes, than a kiss – with touch having heightened importance to him, it was an expression of his love; and she, a killer’s hands so tender on the plane of his cheek, an assurance of hers.

**_give_ **

She reappears to aid the Defenders in battling this newest iteration of the Hand, and it’s all too much for him – the adrenaline of the fight, that heartbeat he knows even better than his own, the fierce, sheer joy of feeling her alive again after two years of thinking her dead under Midland Circle – and he finds himself pulling her against his body and crashing his mouth to hers.

**_bore_ **

She thinks the party is a bore, until she spies the blind, handsome boy from Stick’s files; he thinks the party is a bore as well, until he hears the tinkle of gold bracelets and smells a heady combination of jasmine and sandalwood and freshly-whetted steel.

**_compliment_ **

Matt loves New York, and he’d give his life for it, but – “There’s only one thing in this world that makes me feel more alive, and that’s you,” he says, and it’s quite possibly the loveliest thing she’s ever heard in dire circumstances.

**_save_ **

Elektra took that blow meant for him and _died_ for him, that night on the rooftop, and saved his life; maybe this time, by staying with her in Midland Circle and refusing to let go, he could save her soul.

**_hello_ **

She has to be Elektra, the one Matthew called for when he was hurt and delirious, thinks Sister Maggie as she spots her son approaching, hand-in-hand with a strikingly beautiful woman; a fitting name for someone with such a smoldering intensity, her gaze sharp as she scans the room before landing back on Matthew, and Sister Maggie couldn’t help but smile when Elektra’s eyes soften.

**_remove_ **

He is good and she is not, so she flees, with the justification that he deserves better; but why does it feel so wrong to be so far from him?

**_please_ **

He arches into her hands, hot and hard in the circle of her grip, ragged groans falling from his mouth to hers.

**_tough_ **

“Get me back,” she challenges as she lands a blow that draws blood from his lower lip, and he strikes back, knocking her to the ground; “Get me back,” she demands as she breaks glass after glass in Sweeney’s house, and he snakes his arm around her waist to kiss her silent while breaking his own glass; “Get me back,” she pleads almost inaudibly as the world darkens while debris falls around them, and two years later he sweetly, finally does.

**_reflect_ **

It’s extraordinary, she thinks, watching him in the morning light, that he is her strength and her weakness all at once, her undoing and her salvation. 

**_always_ **

(So how do we do this? – Not alone. – We do it together.) – And when he holds out his hand to her she takes it; each drawing strength and resolve from the touch of the other, and she watches their battle-hardened fingers intertwine, like their hearts and souls and destinies.

**_content_ **

And he falls asleep to the cadence of her deep, even breathing and the steady tempo of her heartbeat.

**_under_ **

He strains to hear the sound of her heartbeat, what used to be so loud and clear and strong, and he hopes, prays, _knows_ that the woman he loved – _loves_ , if he were completely honest – is still underneath this Black Sky.

**_sign_ **

She reappears in his life again and again; he always chooses her and she always comes back to him, so Matt discerns that God is trying to tell him something.

**_dance_ **

They move like two halves of a single warrior, parrying and striking in perfect sync, bodies attuned to each other in both bed and battle.

**_scorch_ **

A thrill runs through her at being able to draw out this side of him, rough and demanding and unrestrained, and sinks to her hands and knees as he whispers dirty, pretty things in her ear.

**_keep_ **

He trails reverent fingertips, feather-light, over her sleeping (slowly waking) face, down the bridge of her aristocratic nose and across the bow of her slightly parted lips, through the thick, sleek strands fanned out on his pillow, brushing the backs of his fingers against her high, sharp cheekbones and the softer curve of her cheeks; it reminds him that she is real, and that she is here.

**_open_ **

He loves her like this, open and beautiful and needy _just for him_ , her warmth seeping into his skin and her hips rocking into his mouth.

**_own_ **

He talks of a way that is wholly their own – not the Hand’s, not the Chaste’s, not anybody’s but theirs – and for him, she would try.

**_pale_ **

She traces the pale, raised scars marking his back, his chest, his stomach; and replaces gentle fingers with her lips.

**_listen_ **

“When you were hurt, when I thought I might lose you, I… I felt hollow.” – Elektra hears the crack in his voice, but didn’t hear how hard he prayed.

**_touch_ **

Every touch feels like coming home.

**_limit_ **

She beats him in their spar – “I win, darling,” she purrs – and binds his wrists to the headboard with his own tie, taking him to the edge again and again until he can’t take any more and begs for release.

**_noise_ **

Today it is he who beats her and traps her facing the wall – “I win, sweetheart,” he rasps in her ear, voice low and rough with want, his cock driving into her from behind, fingers of his right hand toying with her clit, and two fingers of his left hand inside her mouth to feel the thrumming of her moans.

**_sell_ **

They stroll arm-in-arm past a flower vendor on the sidewalk – “Roses for the lady?” the kindly old man offers, and Matt grins – “Do you have any orchids?”

**_minute_ **

She gets ready to throw herself into the fray beyond the door, but he stops her for a moment: “What if – what if from now on, if we make it, wherever you run, I run with you?” Matthew says to her, down on one knee like a proposal, face so earnest and intense it robs her of breath, and Elektra is staggered by the enormity of his words.

**_next_ **

“Think about it… what if this isn’t the end? What if it’s just the beginning?” Despite herself and against all reason, hope flares unbidden in her chest at the thought of creating a future together, and he waits expectantly for her reply – how could her answer be anything but _yes_? – and she nods, smiles, _agrees_ , the hope in her heart sharpening into a fierce determination.

**_yes_ **

He asks her to marry him, just another version of pledging to run with her wherever she runs, and her answer is still the same as that night in the stairwell so long ago.

**_great_ **

He’d never really believed in soulmates or twin flames or that One Great, True Love made for movie screens, but with what he has with Elektra, he thinks he just might reconsider.

**_certain_ **

It’s love – of this they were certain – and perhaps something unnameably more; what they have together went soul-deep, at once visceral and transcendent, raw and real and so very _right_ , elemental as nature and familiar as home.

**Author's Note:**

> you're in my blood like holy wine  
> you taste so bitter and so sweet  
> and i could drink a case of you
> 
> \- a case of you by joni mitchell
> 
> \-------------------------------------
> 
> Thank you for reading! If there’s any sentence you’d like me to spin off into its own story, let me know! I already have ideas for a couple of the sentences. :D


End file.
